When she’d first moved here from Houston in the fourth grade, Long Acre had seemed like a place right out of a storybook. Little shops downtown that didn’t have brand names on them. Friendly people who didn’t mind talking to an overly chatty little girl. Streets that weren’t packed with traffic. It was a place that wasn’t dangerous to wander around even after the sun went down. At the time, she hadn’t cared that the rental house she and her mom had moved into was run-down. She hadn’t cared that she was going to have to start at a whole new school. She hadn’t even cared that her father had decided he no longer wanted to be a part of her life. She’d hated those once-a-month visits with her dad and his “real” family anyway. Long Acre had seemed like a fresh start.

She hadn’t known then that her mom had moved there to escape all kinds of trouble and gambling debt in Houston, that she’d squandered the child support Kincaid’s dad had been paying her, that things would only get worse. All Kincaid knew was that after being dragged around from place to place in the city, Long Acre seemed magical. She’d fallen in love with the town from day one. And one of the places she’d fallen hardest for was the adorable store at the bottom of this staircase—The Stuffed Shelf.

When Kincaid reached the ground floor, she looked over at the door that led to the back rooms of the bookstore. She could remember the very first time she’d walked by The Stuffed Shelf. Her mother had brought her along as she applied for waitressing jobs, but having a little girl in tow wasn’t the best for interviews, so her mom had told her to go keep herself busy in the bookstore. There’d been a colorful Harry Potter display in the window, and when Kincaid had walked in, she’d been enamored with the cozy, quirky comfort of The Stuffed Shelf. She’d felt as if she’d stepped into the actual pages of a book.

Grace Lowell had been manning the main desk and had given her a warm smile, her auburn hair in an elegant twist that seemed more appropriate for a fancy ball than a small-town bookstore. She’d stepped around the counter and crouched to Kincaid’s level. “What can I help you with, cutie pie?”

Kincaid, not shy even back then, had told Grace that she needed a big book to keep her busy because her mom was looking for a job but not to give her anything boring. Grace hadn’t blinked at the idea of a child being dropped off in her care. Instead, she’d set Kincaid up with a pile of books and parked her in a bright-blue chair in the children’s section. When Kincaid’s mom had shown up two hours later with a sway in her step and whiskey on her breath, Grace had sent her along to the diner to sober up and told her she’d walk Kincaid over later. Grace had given Kincaid the books she’d been reading for free and had made sure her mother was safe to drive before releasing Kincaid to her care. Her mom had promptly forbidden Kincaid to return to the bookstore because “That woman thinks she’s better than us.”